


punch drunk love

by suisei (nanakomatsus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Slice of Life, Time Skips, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanakomatsus/pseuds/suisei
Summary: kageyama visits hinata in brazilset during the 2016 olympics, going back and forth between the present and high school years.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio & Sugawara Koushi, Kageyama Tobio/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 80





	punch drunk love

**Author's Note:**

> been wanting to write this ever since the start of this (final) arc. in my mind, kagehina were like those two who loved each other so much their relationship wasn't that defined and when they go their separate ways, they're not bound to each other despite that. warning: the flashbacks might get a bit confusing. sorry about that. here, japan loses in the quarterfinals.
> 
> also, this isn't a sad story. interpret it however you want but i'm not here to break anyone's heart
> 
> soundtrack: closer to you - exo sc, tu - maye

It is the first time he’s truly seen Rio since arriving more than two weeks ago.

Between matches, practice and press stops, there was never really any time for sightseeing other than that welcoming tour they took around on the bus - the one that he slept through most of.

The view from the hotel is nice enough. Some nights, ones where he’s not knocked out immediately after a shower, he looks out at the view of the Jacarepaguá Lagoon, its shores lined with the twinkling lights of the surrounding neighbourhoods.

Now, he looks out the window of the taxi at Rio in all its glory, simmering under the harsh glare of the summer sun. Everything seems to turn to high definition- even the buildings and streets that pass by in a blur of colour. The city- the parts of it that he can see- is a vibrant jumble of old and new structures, all festively decorated. Nature seems to seep in through every corner and crack, telling of the city’s history.

He thinks about his grandfather then, and thinks that the old man would’ve liked it here. 

* * *

When the final whistle blows, Kageyama remembers.

The third years stepped down a week after the spring tournament. Nobody cried then. He didn’t think much about it. It was for the best. After all, the scars from seven days ago were still fresh and healing. It wouldn’t do to add more salt to that wound with tears.

He was locking the gym up when Sugawara reappeared, with that same easy smile he always had. Kageyama acknowledged him with mild surprise and a polite nod.

“C’mon, I’ll get you a drink from Ukai’s,” the elder says in a light tone, calling him over with a jerk of his head. Kageyama follows him.

They’d finished early today, at Ennoshita’s insistence because, to quote their new captain, _‘you freaks rested for only a day after the tournament, go spend some time with your elders!’_ to which Asahi visibly paled and the rest of them barely held their laughter in.

The sun was still a little ways away from setting, hovering comfortably over the horizon. The  sky was tinged pink, a far cry from the deep purple nights that usually greeted them after a long day of practice. Kageyama can’t remember the last time he’d properly watched the sun go down.

“You know, Kageyama,” Sugawara begins, just as they pass the school gates. “A lot of people say that when you get older, you start thinking and worrying more and I’d always thought that it was true. I’ve worried a lot, you know? About what happens after all this,” he waves his hand vaguely through the air, “about college, my future, what to eat for dinner…” Kageyama listens intently to his rambling. Sugawara laughs suddenly, and the younger boy turns to him.

They’re about halfway down the hill leading to Sakanoshita and there’s an orange glow about them now. Sugawara’s stopped walking, and so has Kageyama. The elder looks at him over his shoulder, eyes upturned, smiling. 

“But I never worried about you guys,” he finishes. There’s a comfortable pause then, as the words sink in. Kageyama lips tug into the smallest of smiles and he nods, something like pride blooming in his chest.

They spot Hinata, Daichi and Tanaka further down, waiting outside the store. The little shrimp and their new vice-captain are chugging down their hot chocolate, a little competition of sorts to see who can finish it faster. For once, their former captain stands quietly, letting them have their fun, shaking his head with a smile.

Sugawara pipes up once more and pulls ahead. “But you know, you guys should take better care of yourselves. Tone down on the melon buns. And stop being so loud, the basketball team is always complaining. Also, you and Tsukishima should try to get along better-” he cuts himself off and sighs, but it isn’t a heavy, tired one- more like one of relief and something a little more hopeful.

“You get what I mean, don’t you?” He asks with an apologetic smile, just as the others spot them. By the way he bounds over to them, brandishing his empty can and the way Tanaka’s hot on his heels, demanding a rematch, it looks like Hinata’s won the match. And he’s being awfully annoying about it.

Kageyama nods firmly, and says, “Yes,” because he understands Sugawara, but not quite. After all, they do have a couple more years of growing up to do. And then some.

“We’re going to the spring tournament,” Kageyama says with a sort of finality, as he always does, while they’re heading back to the bus, bodies wilted and emitting metaphorical steam. Sugawara bumps his shoulder with a grin.

“See, I was right, wasn’t I? Nothing to worry about,” he says with a little hum. With one last pat on the back, he takes a left into the visitor’s car park where Daichi’s waiting, arms crossed over his chest, fingers wiggling in greeting. Kageyama gives a polite bow.

_ I never said you weren’t, _ Kageyama thinks to himself briefly before spotting their new setter just ahead, trailing behind the rest of the pack, head hung low. He takes firm steps towards the rookie.

“Hurry up or the food’ll be cold when we get there,” he says flatly, but not unkindly and matches their steps. The first year looks up at him in surprise, all watery-eyed and blinks rapidly. Kageyama looks ahead, pretending to ignore the way the younger boy quickly wipes the tears out of his eyes with his sleeves.

“At the spring tournament, I want to win it all,” he says, steeling his resolve as they climb into the bus. Kageyama hums. Something like pride blooms in his chest.

* * *

The loss was, in retrospect, to be expected. 

Not that they had given up (never, ever), but the pain wasn’t the sting he’d expected. Instead, it was something dull, ebbing and throbbing like the feeling of jamming his thumb on a block.

Because of this, even as the shrill of the whistle pierced through the air, his mind wasn’t able to fully register it. He stood there, fingers still tingling, adrenaline still coursing through his body. His gaze was fixed on the exit sign hung over the tunnel. The stadium lights suddenly became blinding and the noise of the crowd disruptive to whatever he was thinking at the time.

He doesn’t really remember what it was.

It is the warm hand on his shoulder that anchors him back to reality. Blinking, he turns slowly to find Ushijima stood beside him, his expression far away, mirroring that of Kageyama’s own just a few moments ago.

“Line up,” is the simple order the senior gives. His voice is a steady, low hum that transfers from the palm on Kageyama’s shoulder to the rest of his body, like a jolt of regenerative energy. 

The younger nods and without another word exchanged, they join their teammates in a line to thank their supporters.

Later that night, Kageyama decides to steal away from the dinner hall for a breather. Their captain’s howling through the speakers is immediately muffled as he shuts the door behind him. He is greeted by a cool breeze. It smells like salt.

At the other end of the terrace, Ushijima stands leaning against the railings, nursing a beer. His expression is unreadable as always. He barely acknowledges Kageyama when he joins him.

“They’re asking for you at the open mic,” the younger says. Ushijima hums, his shoulders jerking up in a sort of full-bodied scoff.

“Later,” he replies, taking a swig. He’s downed about half of it before he holds it out to Kageyama, who regards the bottle a little wide-eyed. 

He’d always taken Ushijima as a stickler for the rules (not that there’s anything wrong with that), someone straight-laced and proper. Thus, such an invitation was definitely a first. 

“The drinking age is eighteen here,” Ushijima says flatly. Kageyama swallows and takes the drink. Hesitantly, he presses his lips to its mouth and takes a sip. And another. And another. And a few more after that.

“It’s bitter,” he says, handing it back to its owner who drains it in a single gulp. 

They fix their gazes to the horizon.

“Yeah.”

* * *

After a while of staring open-mouthed, much to the driver’s amusement, they arrive in Santa Teresa with its narrow, winding streets flanked with murals and impressive graffiti. Kageyama tips the driver generously and alights right in front of the bar they’d agreed to meet at.

It’s late in the afternoon by now; though the sun still shines bright, the shadows are growing more prominent. And it is hot. Despite it having been only two minutes out of the taxi, Kageyama can already feel his shirt beginning to stick to his back.

“Yo, Kageyama!” Comes a familiar cry. Hinata waves him over from inside, his sunglasses threatening to fly off his head.

And he’s smiling, of course he is, all full teeth and dimples. Kageyama’s heart eases for the first time since yesterday. They get a table on the terrace, overlooking a hill with colourful houses interspersed among the greenery.

It hasn’t been too long since they last met, with Hinata having left Japan earlier in the spring. Kageyama vaguely notes the slight tan he’s got going on, and can’t wait to see how bad it’ll get. 

“I saw your game yesterday,” Hinata says with a knowing grin and Kageyama half-expects him to point out that one serve that didn’t get across or how the opposing setter managed to outsmart him throughout the entire match or-

“Man, you guys were awesome!” He cries out instead. It’s a comically pained sound, one of childish envy and  _ wow, you guys were really cool. _ For once, Kageyama doesn’t smirk at him or make some triumphant remark. He just sips his coffee in silence.

“You know, Yachi might go bald of stress if you don’t answer her texts,” Hinata says pointedly, wiggling a playful eyebrow. Kageyama clears his throat and looks away.

“I saw them.” Hinata laughs and something warm fills the Japanese setter’s chest. 

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I’ll get to them-”

A menu is thrust at his face. He looks up in mild annoyance to find Hinata grinning at him. Rolling his eyes, he accepts it and scans the pages. Unfortunately, his brain short wires upon seeing the foreign typeset. 

“ _ Um feijoada grande e cachaça...três, _ ” Hinata says to the waitress as Kageyama stares at him, confuddled.

“Speaking of texts, I was on the phone with Yamaguchi the other day and did ya hear? Tsukishima’s planning to try out for a team! Glad he got over the ‘just a club’ phase…” Kageyama listens on as Hinata rambles about the happenings that he already knows about, having caught up with their former schoolmates from time to time back home. He can’t find it in himself to cut the idiot off.

“-was pretty mad about it but she’s sending a new one over next week. Sisters are the best!” Hinata finishes his story just as the food arrives, steaming hot. They waste no time digging in.

As they press their palms together, Kageyama catches a whiff of the stuff and is pleasantly surprised to find that it smells rather familiar, if only slightly.

* * *

Warm air greets them as the door to the inn slides open, along with the smell of food.

They spend a while in the baths, getting it all to themselves for once, as their underclassmen had insisted. Hinata lets out a loud sigh as he submerges himself up to his chin. Kageyama feels the steam settle on his face, feels it entering his pores, rejuvenating him from the outside in. Yamaguchi looks right about to fall asleep, but he doesn’t and hums a merry tune. 

For once, it’s Tsukishima who breaks the tender silence.

“If I’d reacted faster to that last block…” he trails off and sighs. “I want beef,” he says instead. Hinata laughs.

“There’s always meat,” Kageyama says. 

“And potatoes,” Yamaguchi adds in a wistful tone.

Hinata gasps, suddenly rising from his seat, the water violently splashing around him. “We’re soup right now, aren’t we?” He exclaims. There’s a moment of silence before the other three groan.

Yachi is waiting for them on the balcony, ready with four cans of hot drinks and a warm smile. It’s cold out, much more than it had been compared to the previous years.

“This is nice,” she sings after a gulp, her eyes trained on the shop lots in front of them with their bright, blinding neon signs, the traffic bustling below them and the stars overhead. Their comfortable silence is a quiet agreement, and they stand with the cold breeze washing over them, unmoving.

“I’m happy!” Hinata yells suddenly, his voice getting lost in the buzz of the city. 

“Me too!” Yamaguchi joins in, eyes screwed shut, chest inflating, throwing his head back. Yachi repeats him, and her voice cracks a little but she manages to keep it together.

Kageyama finds himself mimicking them, though at a softer volume and finally, Tsukishima does as well, but not without a loud mutter of _‘idiots’._

Hinata’s grinning face catches the corner of his eye. The setter turns to their ace, mirroring his expression, both their eyes agleam and twinkling, noses runny and cheeks rosy.

When young Kai, their new libero, calls them in, _the food’s ready!_ they make a run for it. But Kageyama finds himself hanging back, watching the three others bound across the balcony, even Tsukishima deigning to jog after an enthusiastic Yachi, her hands wrapped firmly around his and Yamaguchi’s wrists as she pulls them along.

It’s Hinata, of course, who notices his absence and slows to a stop halfway, turning to him with a lopsided smile.

“Well, King of the Court? You’re gonna lose out on the best cut of meat!” The shrimp calls. Kageyama suppresses a smile and slowly makes his way over to the halfway point. Their hands immediately find each other, lacing together. Hinata gives him a gentle squeeze, smiling, before he lets go and gets a head start towards the door.

Kageyama runs after him, barking insults,  _ Hinata, you moron! _

They do get the best cuts of meat, after all. 

But it’s a little salty, Kageyama thinks, then realises that it’s his saliva gathering as tears begin to sting his eyes. But he eats, and they eat, until every last plate is clean, every dish downed into their stomachs, every last grain of rice.

He doesn’t cry. Neither do the other three. Hinata doesn’t make any attempt to alleviate the silence and they wash the plates up, continuing it.

That night, when Hinata rolls over onto his futon, Kageyama doesn’t shove him away. Instead, he goes back to sleep with the feeling of the other boy’s breath against the shell of his ear.

* * *

The sunset is no less beautiful when reflected off the tiny windows of the houses dotting the hill in their view. Kageyama sips on his glass of cachaça, relishing in its floral sweetness.

“There’s a party down at the beach. Soccer night. Wanna go?” Hinata asks. Without thinking twice, Kageyama relents, nodding. “Sure.”

They take a slow stroll through Santa Teresa. The place is busy tonight; every bar and restaurant with a screen is packed. But Kageyama finds that he doesn’t mind the excited buzz. It’s comforting, actually.

“-and there’s a gallery somewhere around here if you have the time. It’s a really great place.” Hinata’s commentary is non-stop as they wander through the winding streets. Kageyama doesn’t mind that either.

He also doesn’t mind that their palms are sweaty as Hinata tugs him around and makes no attempt to pull away.

He hears the party before he sees it, the beat of the music pulsing under his feet as they get closer. The beach is a sea of yellow and green. There’s a gigantic LED screen set up, with speakers stacked up beside it, blaring Latin pop. Kageyama feels the tips of his fingers tingle - not the kind he gets before or after a match; an unpleasant kind but-

“I’ll pay for the drinks,” Hinata says, snapping him out of his thoughts. The other boy’s fingers are entangled in his now. He leads the two of them through the crowd, towards one of the dozens of makeshift bars that line the area’s perimeter. 

When the bartender gruffly inquires their order, Kageyama leans in to Hinata. He’s close, purposefully so. Partly because he can’t find enough energy to shout over the music. Mostly so he can let his lips ghost over Hinata’s cheek as he asks for that drink they had earlier over dinner. He holds himself back, hoping Hinata gets the message but-

“ _ Cachaça Pitú-” _ The orange-haired boy holds out two fingers, beaming, completely blissful. Kageyama isn’t surprised and gingerly accepts the bottle.

For a while, they stay at the sides, drinking, watching on as the crowd twists and turns. It’s sort of hypnotic and Kageyama almost find himself drifting away until-

“I love this song!” Hinata hollers and without giving him even a split second’s chance to reply, drags Kageyama into the sea of bodies.

* * *

He couldn’t say no.

It was, after all, the team’s first league win in a while. And he was the youngest for the night, so how could he?

They’d started off with a typical team dinner, though at a much more expensive buffet restaurant than the ones they go to after winning regular matches. He’d been piled on with food from early on, and nearly chokes with all the claps on his back he gets while trying to keep up with the conversation. The sashimi is top grade and the beef melts in his mouth.

“Tobio, you deserve it!”

“Eat up, boy!”

“It’s all thanks to our monster setter!”

Next, they rampaged the rooftop bar of the hotel they were eating at. Kageyama could barely hear as Hoshiumi chattered beside him, the two of them stuffed in the back of the elevator, faces pressed up against the glass. They watched the Tokyo skyline rise up beneath them, its twinkling lights like a crowd at an exhibition game, cheering them on. 

For a moment, he remembers an early spring night on a balcony in his third year of high school.

He likes shochu, is what he’d found out during a Karasuno reunion dinner a few months ago. Particularly Ikkomon. Sugawara had poured him a glass, after they’d downed their barbecue and were on their road to nostalgia. 

“I thought you’d like it,” the elder says with a small, wistful smile. Kageyama holds his glass out for another. Yes, he did, very much. It was light and sweet and did not encroach on the aftertaste of meat that he so loved.

So when the bartender asks for an order, he doesn’t need to think twice. Beside him, Hoshiumi’s chugging down a bottle of Yebisu beer. He releases the bottle from his mouth with a loud pop and a satisfied exhale, tilting his head towards the setter and grinning, wiggling his eyebrows.

On his left, Ushijima nurses a vodka tonic, sipping at it gingerly. Now that Kageyama thinks about it, the Shiratorizawa alum never seemed to drink much whenever they went out with the team. Probably a couple bottles of beer, at most. So why he was downing the lime-garnished drink tonight was anyone’s guess.

“It’s a special occasion,” Ushijima replies simply, when Hoshiumi, sharp and straight as ever, asks. The outside hitter barks out a laugh and makes a big show of draining his second Yebisu.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying it much,” the blonde says. The other man shrugs and takes a sip, ending the conversation. 

It is then that Sokolov slides over and challenges Hoshiumi to a drink-off. Kageyama and Ushijima watch, mildly impressed, as their shortest member drinks their middle blocker under a table.

It is a couple of hours later, when Sokolov proposes a boys’ night out. " _B_ _ oys, _ Hirugami, aren’t you too old?" He says with a cackle as their captain watches on, shaking his head with a tired smile.

They arrive at Villa just a little after midnight.

It is pulsing, it is colourful, it is dark and it is everything Kageyama hates. The only relief is that they’re in the reserved area, overlooking the dance floor, and not down there, among the wave of bodies. His reprieve lasts about fifteen minutes before Hoshiumi, surrounded by a gaggle of women, are tugging at him and Ushijima. Unable to refuse them over the pounding music, he’s dragged along with the group, down into the chaos below.

It is liberating, yes, but it’s too _much._ The press of unfamiliar bodies against his, the bad music, the reek of alcohol, he can’t seem to form any coherent thoughts at all, despite not even having that much to drink.

Ushijima is a little ways away, with a bottle of liquor in one hand and the other hovering over the waist of a particularly insistent lady. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying it, but the furrow of the ace’s eyebrows and his tightened lips spells trouble. 

Kageyama disentangles himself from the blonde trying her best to put her lips on his neck and makes his way to his teammate, shouldering through the crowd.

“Ushijima-san,” he calls, with a steady hand on the elder’s shoulder. There’s something like relief and annoyance in the spiker’s eyes as he nods at Kageyama and follows him, the two of them braving the ocean of bodies, towards their escape.

Outside, he texts the team group chat, letting them know they’ll be going home. It isn’t at all likely that anyone will read it until the next day but, _just in case,_ he thinks, and pockets his phone. Ushijima’s swaying on his feet already, his expression set in a frown.

“I’m not drunk,” he says. Kageyama steadies him with a firm arm around his torso, grunting under the larger man’s weight, while waving for a taxi. He must be really hammered, because he’s stopped using his own strength to hold himself up, now completely relying on the younger. 

Kageyama shifts his leg and bends a little in an attempt to steady the both of them. Ushijima’s head lolls into the side of his neck, his forehead resting right under Kageyama’s jaw. His breathing is hot and erratic against Kageyama’s throat. The setter gulps, suddenly feeling entirely too conscious of his own hand on the small of the elder’s back, the tips of his fingers barely grazing skin under his spiker’s ridden-up shirt.

A taxi slows to a stop beside them. 

“Me neither, Ushijima-san,” the young setter says, humoring him just this once while gently nudging him off.

_ Roppongi, _ he tells the driver and sends his teammate on his way.

Taking a deep breath, he stands there on the sidewalk for a long time, eyes closed, listening to the bustle of the city around him. After regaining his composure, he turns Maps on and, after confirming the one hour foot-route back to the hotel, begins his slow walk through Tokyo.

He pushes down the feeling of gnawing loneliness creeping up his neck and instead focuses on his steps and breathing.

* * *

It’s a particularly upbeat number, driven by retro-sounding trumpets and synths.

Kageyama’s no dancer, never has been, probably never will be. But Hinata, aside from his exceptional natural athleticism is also, apparently, a professional at this. 

His hands trace wild spirals in the air, the tapping of his feet matching every drum beat, his hips as flexible as the rest of his body. He’s really smiling now, shouting at random intervals, completely overcome.

And so is, Kageyama, feeling his chest clench, and no, not because of the crowd around them almost suffocating. But because of his own body, pressed up against Hinata’s, thrumming with energy.

“C’mon!” The shorter boy shouts, egging him on. Kageyama continues his awkward bouncing. It might not look like much, but he _is_ enjoying the music, in his own way. That doesn’t seem to satisfy his dance partner. 

For the nth time that evening, Hinata’s fingers are locked with his as he tries to get Kageyama to ride the beat with him. It works a little, with the national athlete picking his pace up. It’s a little overwhelming when Hinata grins up at him though, lighting something in him.

Kageyama grabs him by the shoulders and presses a painful kiss to his lips, their teeth clacking together. Just as the setter thinks he’s got a handle on his hyperactive former teammate, Hinata pulls away with that same, cheeky grin. 

This time, his eyes light up with something passionate, like a promise, brighter than the stage lights that paint them with neon hues.

“First, let’s dance.”

* * *

He somehow always finds himself here.

(Well, maybe not  _ somehow _ , because he’d always meant to be here in the first place. His body remembers; exactly how far the gym is from his class, how many steps he should take, how many flights of stairs he has to climb. So does his heart.)

Today is no different.

Shrugging off his blazer, he tosses his diploma aside. Pulling the ball cart out of the store, he takes a deep breath. The feel of the ball is familiar, like the feel of the cold shower after a long day of practice, of a hearty meal after a game won, of another pair of fingers slotted between his own. It is the most familiar thing in the world.

He tosses the ball up, relishing in that one moment where time stops, but he doesn’t and he gathers his energy, tightening the muscles in his calves, and pushes himself off the wooden floor. His arm reels back, like a rubber band being pulled, and he swings it forward in a perfect arc. The ball freezes in his palm as it connects, and the impact that sends it flying across the court sounds like the thunder that had kept them in this very gym until midnight that one time.

It doesn’t hit the ground.

A flash of orange, a triumphant grin he finds himself mirroring when he lands.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Hinata says about an hour or so later, as they sit leaning against the stage, looking out at the hall, the late afternoon sun filtering in through the skylights on either side. Kageyama sips on his box of milk absently.

Their fingers are laced just so, up until their knuckles as they lean against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“That was fast,” Hinata says quietly, alluding to how three whole years had flown them by like a passing train. It’s not like Kageyama’s never seen him serious, they all have, of course. They’ve seen his intense concentration, his frustrated glare in the mirror. But Kageyama never thought he’d hear such sadness in his voice, especially not on their graduation, of all days.

Hinata sighs then, and it’s gone as soon as it’d come. 

He straightens and pulls his hand away. Kageyama vaguely feels his heart drop a little at the loss of touch, but it’s pushed away when the other turns to him with that grin, the one that spreads across his face when they’ve won a match.

He doesn’t say anything, just goes to gather his things by the door. After a beat, Kageyama follows suit. 

They hang by the entrance, watching the sun set, leaning against either side of the door frame. The sky is the same colour as Hinata’s hair.

It is then, only then, that Hinata turns to him, with a more muted smile, the kind where his eyes crinkle at their corners, turning into crescent moons, or like the sun shining through an eclipse and says, “See ya later, Kageyama!”

Kageyama scoffs, but he lets his own smile curve, returning the sentiment, “Yeah, see you later.”

They leave together, bumping shoulders. Kageyama fingers a lock of his hair, one at the base of his head. Hinata turns to him, a little startled.

“Hurry up and cut your hair,” he says flatly. The shorter boy swats him away, narrowing his eyes, but there’s no bite behind it.

“I was just gonna, geez!”

They part ways at the school gate. Kageyama doesn’t need to look back to know that Hinata doesn’t, either.

* * *

Hinata’s apartment is cozy. There isn’t any other way to describe it. Not that Kageyama’s paying much attention. 

(He spots the framed picture of them on the podium, at their last spring tourney. And the one they took during graduation. And the one from their training camp in second year.)

“Make yourself at home,” Hinata says, barely sounding winded despite the good hour they spent dancing (or, in Kageyama’s case, attempt to). They’d left just as the players filed out the tunnel. It must be somewhere in the middle of the first half by now. Outside, there is still cheering from the downstairs bars and neighbouring open windows.

Kageyama steps out onto the balcony just as another chorus of cheers resounds around the neighbourhood and beyond. He swears he can hear the entire country lose their minds. 

There’s a cold press of metal at his neck. He barely reacts, much to Hinata’s dismay with how he clicks his tongue and sighs.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Hinata says, joining him. They look out at the neighbourhood, at how there’s not a single dark window, at how the small group of old men dance around with joy in the street below, their voices echoing throughout, joining the hundreds and thousands and millions of others.

But Kageyama’s not looking anymore, at least not at what he’s supposed to be. Instead, his eyes are trailed on the outline of Hinata’s nose, his lips, the reflection of city lights in his eyes-

“So, whaddaya think?” Hinata’s looking at him earnestly. 

Kageyama’s eyes flicker away. He takes a swig of his beer.

“It’s nice. But it’s not for me,” he replies. The other boy’s laughter rings around them, louder and more invigorating than any cheer. It sends a shudder up Kageyama’s spine. 

“Thought so.”

Kageyama spins around, leaning his hip against the stone banister. He takes a look at the apartment properly, though it’s a little hard to see anything with it being almost completely dark, save for the light coming from the kitchen. He quickly gives up and keeps his gaze on the door, a black rectangle at the far end of the room, darker than anything else.

“Said you had a roommate,” Kageyama says. Hinata hums.

“I guess even quiet guys like him can’t resist soccer night,” he says, laughing to himself a bit. “It’s like a religion, is the saying.”

Kageyama can respect that.

“What’s your schedule like tomorrow?” Hinata asks, turning to him, hopeful. Kageyama doesn’t even have to think about it. He shakes his head.

“I’m free.”

“Then, wanna go play at the beach?”

“Okay.”

“We can grab lunch around there. I know a place that has good sandwiches.:

“Sure.”

There is a lull to their conversation. It’s a long pause, the longest they’d had all evening.

“Kageyama?”

He turns to-

Hinata’s hands are warm as he cups his face, his pinky resting on Kageyama’s hammering pulse. His lips are slightly chapped and taste of alcohol and fried food.

Kageyama closes his eyes and leans in, his fingers curling around the hem of Hinata’s tank top.

Not even the sound of the neighbourhood bursting into cheers once more around them, or the sparklers and fireworks, can interrupt that moment.

* * *

Surprisingly, that one shared bottle was all they’d drank that night.

Kageyama watches Ushijima as the spiker looks out the glass walls of the elevator, that distant look still clouding his eyes. The karaoke session should’ve helped, but it didn’t really, not for either of them, or any of their teammates for that matter. But it was a good distraction.

His arms are crossed, as they normally are. It usually looks like a guarded pose, intimidating and strong. But now, Kageyama dully notes, it just looks like the elder’s trying to hold himself together. 

And he does a good job of it, as he always does.

The man spends a longer time in the bathroom than Kageyama had expected. He checks the clock on their shared bedside table. 3:14 A.M. He’s hoping for an early start tomorrow. 

Gathering his night pack, he cautiously knocks on the door. Ushijima’s hum of affirmation bounces off the sterile walls. Kageyama enters to find him lying there in the bath, head leaning against the wall, eyes to the ceiling, not moving a muscle.

He turns his attention to his face wash, closing his eyes and gently rubbing it in. He should go for a massage soon.

“Sorry,” Ushijima’s baritone fills the space. Kageyama doesn’t need to ask  _ for what, _ because he knows- for taking too long in the bath, for all the times he’d been left to deal with his drunk self, for getting blocked out consecutively, for-

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow, Ushijima-san?”

“No.”

“I’ll be out until the day after.”

“Take your keys with you.”

“Okay.”

Kageyama falls asleep in an instant. But he feels his bed sink some time later, feels Ushijima’s back against his, wrought with tension. It is a while before he eases back into the darkness when he feels the other’s breathing even out.

* * *

They meet the week after he gets accepted into the Jackals. 

“Yo, Kageyama, it’s been a while,” Hinata greets, all tanned and lean muscle. Kageyama quirks a corner of his lip.

“Yeah.”  _ More than a while, _ he thinks.

Hinata spares no time before diving into his stories and adventures in Rio, going on about the nice old lady in the floor above his apartment unit and that one time he embarrassed himself at a friend's wedding-

Kageyama listens intently, taking intermittent swigs of his beer. Their yakitori arrives, and they take a five-minute break to stuff themselves before Hinata excitedly grills Kageyama about the League and the Adlers,  _ hey I saw your game last week, you sucked. _

“Shut up, moron,” Kageyama grumbles but tells him anyway, about Hirugami- _ Oh the guy from Kamomedai- No, his older brother-  _ and Hoshiumi  _ (-He’s gotten better- So have I!)  _ and Ushijima  _ (-Remember back in first year, when you said you’d make him acknowledge you? - Yeah - Well, now you have! - Yeah). _

“Catch ya next week, then,” Hinata says, waving as they part ways outside the restaurant. Kageyama nods. 

“Don’t let me down, moron,” he says. Hinata turns to him, slightly puzzled.

“But Yachi’s handling the reservations,” he replies, matter-of-factly. Kageyama is momentarily surprised and opens his mouth to correct him but Hinata cuts him off, his face lighting up as he snaps his fingers, a bulb being turned on that bird-brain of his.

“Oh, _the game!_ We’ll beat you!” He says with a sheepish grin. Kageyama shoots him a withering glare, but there’s no bite behind it.

“Like I’d let you,” he barks. Hinata throws his head back, laughing.

“Welcome back,” Kageyama hears himself say, his mouth moving of its own volition. His former teammate sobers in surprise before his eyes crinkle and a soft smile presses against his lips.

“I’m back, Kageyama.”

**Author's Note:**

> -basic timestamps in this fic: present time (happening in parallel) - the night of team japan's loss and the day after, flashbacks - losing to datekou at the interhigh qualifiers, their final meal as third years, everything between kageyama joining the adlers fresh out of high school and the olympics  
> -the [bar](http://bardomineiro.net/) they eat at  
> -i don't think anyone understands how painful it was to write 'football' as 'soccer' while this fic is set in brazil  
> want to scream with me? @nnanakomatsus on twt


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